Under the Mattress

Greg Vadimsky
Greg Vadimsky


They come a'knocking then pounding as we hesitate to answer. A sky of gray looks down.

Entering every room. Why is it we feel like criminals in our own home?

They look now, under the mattress, into the closet. We tell them there is no one.

They were our blood a long, long time ago, but faces of strangers now.

They leave while taking three of the young ones. Schoolmates, long gone.

If that saves them I'll not say. Wish only Dad were here and the old I.R.A. (let go, let go...)

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